


Enough Rope

by Transposable_Element



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Centaurs, Gen, Giants, Marsh-wiggles, fathers and daughters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transposable_Element/pseuds/Transposable_Element
Summary: Puddleglum and his daughter help out a neighbor.





	Enough Rope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ANGSWIN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANGSWIN/gifts).



“Dad! Dad! Cloudwing says there’s a Giant stuck in the marsh!”

Puddleglum looked up to see his daughter Weedwoe pushing through the reeds toward his fishing spot. “From Harfang? They’ve decided to invade us, have they?” he asked.

“Mother asked the same thing, but Cloudwing says it’s just one. An Ettinsmoor Giant, not Narnian.”

Puddleglum nodded. Most Narnian Giants knew better than to venture into the marsh, where they would inevitably become stuck. He began drawing in his fishing line. “Where exactly?”

“She says it’s at the north end of the big loop in the Shribble, near where the bogberries grow.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to get together and drag it out, then. Nobody wants a Giant in the middle of a bogberry patch. Is Cloudwing spreading the word around the upper marsh?”

“That’s what she told us. Will it take long to get the Giant out, Dad?”

Puddleglum decided it was time to teach his eldest some Wiggle wisdom.

“It’ll take us a day or more just to paddle up there, and we’ll be the first, for I doubt there are any Wiggle families closer. Like as not we won’t be able to get all the rope we need, and we can’t count on any help from the Centaurs, not after that big ruckus last year over the water-hemp trade. The Giant may not realize we’re trying to help, so that’ll make things tougher. I’d say a week at best, longer if it rains, which it surely will.”

Weedwoe nodded solemnly, but Puddleglum worried that he hadn’t properly laid out the gravity of the situation.

“We’ll damage the berry bushes getting him out,” Puddleglum added. “We won’t get any bogberries this summer, that’s certain. May even destroy the patch altogether.”

Weedwoe, who loved bogberries, looked stricken, so Puddleglum added, “Not to worry. I know some other patches. We may be able to find enough for a pie at Midsummer.”

Weedwoe's expression became fractionally less doleful.

Puddleglum finished gathering his gear and stood. “Come along, my girl. Let’s go see how much rope we have.”

“Mother’s packing the canoe already,” said Weedwoe.

 

The canoe was indeed nearly packed by the time they got back to the wigwam.

“The young ones had best stay here with you. No telling how long it’ll take,” said Puddleglum to his wife, Runnelweep.

“Oh, Dad, can’t I go with you? I’ve never seen a Giant before,” begged Weedwoe.

“Well, I don’t know. It’s dangerous. We’ll have to sleep rough, and it looks like rain. And who knows how long it’ll take.”

“A week, you said.”

“ _At least_ a week.”

“Please, Dad! I’ll be good. I’ll help, and I won’t complain, I promise.”

The two adults looked at each other.

“I suppose it’ll be good for you to see some of the world’s travails,” Puddleglum said.

Weedwoe ducked into the wigwam to fetch a few things she needed for overnight while Runnelweep packed an extra blanket in the canoe. Waving goodbye, Puddleglum and Weedwoe paddled down the channel toward the river a little after noon.

 

“Dad, can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Why do the other Wiggle kids call me Gillyflower?”

Puddleglum looked at his daughter. The girl was in an awkward stage, just on the cusp of adolescence. She was shooting up to her adult height (“growing a leg,” as Marsh-wiggles say), but her face was still soft and childlike, with a pinkish tinge that Puddleglum suspected had earned her the nickname.

“Do you mind it?” he asked.

Weedwoe shrugged.

“It’s not so bad,” said Puddleglum. “It reminds me of the Daughter of Eve I knew back when I was having my adventures. Her name was Jill.”

“I thought her name was Pole.”

“She had two names. Jill _and_ Pole.”

“Why two names? Was she in disguise?”

“No, she just had two names. Foreign customs.”

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t mind being called Pole.”

“Yes, that’s a pretty nickname, especially if you end up as tall as your mother, which you oughtn’t to count on, mind you. But Weedwoe is a good name, too. Your great-grandmother was an important leader in the days of King Caspian the tenth, and the rebellion against the Telmarines. That’s why we named you for her.”

“I know. Mother’s told me all about her.”

“Well then, you know. If one name doesn’t suit, you can always choose another.”

 

By mid afternoon they had reached the river and begun paddling upstream against the sluggish current. Not long after that, they began to hear the Giant bellowing. For the most part it was inarticulate yells, but from time to time they could hear words:

“Heeeeeelp! Heeeeeeelp meeee! Stuuuuuuuck!”

Puddleglum and Weedwoe continued and when they passed a high bank on their left the view opened out and they could see the Giant standing in the mire, silhouetted against the sky. Suddenly, the bellowing stopped.

“Why did he stop yelling, Dad?” Weedwoe asked.

“I don’t know,” said Puddleglum.

After paddling a little further they decided they were as close as they were likely to get by river, so they beached the canoe, got out, and started slinging coils of rope over their shoulders. Puddleglum could see that Weedwoe was staggering under the heavy load, but he decided not to take it from her. They hadn't far to walk, and she might resent being relieved of her burden. They started off across the marsh toward the Giant.

When they got closer they saw why the Giant had stopped yelling: they were not the first rescuers. Five Centaurs had already arrived. Two were making a fire, and they were doing it all wrong.

“Here, I’ll take that rope, and you go teach those Centaurs how to make a peat fire. Not that they’ll ever learn to do a proper job,” said Puddleglum. Weedwoe gave him the rope with obvious relief and set off to help the Centaurs with their fire.

The other three Centaurs had set up a sort of plank boardwalk and were standing on it talking soothingly to the Giant, who was stuck in the mud halfway up his calves. Puddleglum approached them, and there were introductions all around. The leader of the Centaurs, Goldwand, raised an eyebrow when he heard Puddleglum’s name, but said nothing. Puddleglum, who disliked being a celebrity, appreciated this. He hadn’t met any of these Centaurs before, and nobody mentioned the water-hemp dispute.

“My name Arkadoggle,” announced the Giant. “You tiny people help me, I won’t eat you.”

“Nice of you to say so,” said Puddleglum. “And if you forget later, well, it’s only to be expected. We won’t hold it against you.”

Around sundown another group of Wiggles arrived and began cooking up supper for everybody. By the time they had eaten, it was dark. The Centaurs consulted the stars and did some calculations, after which they agreed that the best way to get the Giant out of the mud would be to knock him down and drag him out with ropes. They also agreed not to tell Arkadoggle about this plan until the morning. 

Puddleglum fetched blankets from the canoe, and he and Weedwoe sat by the fire with the others. They drank the health of King Rilian and Queen Sala. One of the Centaurs performed a long poem about the Voyage of the _Dawn Treader_. Puddleglum reluctantly agreed to tell about some his own adventures, but he wasn’t much of a story-teller, and after a bit he petered out and the only person who seemed disappointed was Weedwoe. Then they all rolled themselves up in their blankets and went to sleep.

It took the whole next day to lower Arkadoggle safely to the ground. Much of this time was spent convincing the Giant that a controlled fall was better than having him simply topple over, which was what would happen if they tried to pull him out of the mud from a standing position.

The Giant’s main response to all of this was “No!” But eventually he allowed them to attach ropes to his arms and around his broad waist so that they could brace him while he lowered himself awkwardly backwards into the mud. Once he was down, Puddleglum gave him a sip from his black bottle—or rather, that’s what he had intended, but when Arkadoggle handed the bottle back it was empty.

“Gooooood,” said the Giant.

“Nasty stuff. Not my best,” said Puddleglum, but Arkadoggle didn’t seem to notice.

“Look, Dad, he’s missed the berry bushes! Just crushed that one,” said Weedwoe.

“We still have to drag him out,” said Puddleglum.

“But we’re going to drag him upland to the meadow, where it’s drier,” said Weedwoe. “So we’ll be dragging him away from where the berries are.”

“Boots still might catch,” said Puddleglum. “Besides, the birds usually get most of the bogberries anyway.”

Weedwoe looked at him perplexedly. Like him, she knew that although the birds (and Birds) did get some of the bogberries, there were usually plenty for any Wiggle who wanted to make the trek up here to pick them. “But Dad—“ she began. Then she stopped. “Oh, right. I forgot about that. No, I suppose we won’t get any berries this year. Do you think it’s likely to rain?”

“Certain to,” said Puddleglum, gazing up at the cloudless sky. Children have to grow up, and it was time that Weedwoe learned a proper pessimism, but he felt a pang all the same.

 

The next day was harder physical work, but also simpler. First they dug around the Giant’s feet to free them as much as possible, and then they fastened ropes everywhere on the Giant that a rope could be fastened. And then they pulled.

Arkadoggle was not stoic, moaning and groaning as they hauled him through the marsh. “Ow! That hurt! My boot!” he cried, as one of his boots came off and stayed stuck in the mud.

But by mid afternoon they had pulled the Giant to drier ground and he was able to sit up and eat a whole sheep that had been roasting on the fire. Meanwhile, Weedwoe and a couple of the other young Wiggles dug his boot out of the mud and dragged it over so he could put it back on.

“Thanks, tiny people,” Arkadoggle said, as he got to his feet. “How do I go home now?”

Goldwand sent one of his Centaurs to show the Giant a safe path, and they set off together across the meadow toward the river.

Puddleglum took out his pipe and tobacco and lit it with an ember from the Centaurs’ fire.

“I’m all over mud, and so are you, Dad. How about a swim in the river?” asked Weedwoe.

“Current’s awfully strong. Like as not you’d be swept downstream. And it’s bound to be icy, this early in the spring,” said Puddleglum. “Still, if you insist, I see some of the others are taking a dip. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And indeed the Centaurs and some of the Wiggles were already splashing in the shallow water.

Weedwoe nodded but made no move to join them yet. They stood together and watched as Arkadoggle waded the river and lumbered away north, pausing once to turn and wave his arm. “Was this what things were like when you were young and went on adventures, Dad?” she asked.

Puddleglum drew on his pipe. “Just like,” he said, and would have smiled if he could.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's kind of like a barn-raising, but in reverse!
> 
> Thanks to [Liz Culmer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling) for the beta.
> 
> Runnelweep's first appearance is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3434954). You never knew Puddleglum could be so romantic, did you?
> 
> I borrowed a couple of names from [Edonohana.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana) Weedwoe appears in [No Reservations: Narnia](http://archiveofourown.org/works/137185), one of my favorite fics of all time, and Queen Sala is from [I'll Squeeze You a Cup Full of Diamond Juice.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4679501)
> 
> I've been meaning for a while to write a story illustrating why the Giants never succeeded in invading Narnia from the north. For Giants, a marsh must be a pretty effective physical barrier. 
> 
> One thing that struck me while I was writing this story is that, unlike most other comically gloomy characters in fiction, Puddleglum is not self-pitying. He doesn't complain; there's never a hint of "why me?" This is one of the things that makes his negativity endearing, rather than irritating, and why he's a good person to have along on an adventure.


End file.
